Liebesleid
by xXHanamizukiXx
Summary: Ten years. One lies forgotten in a dark corridor with only fresh blue petals for company. The other dreams of a maze of lurid monsters as she creates glorious music from enchanted fingers. And in some blank unloving space, an artist longs for redemption.
1. Chapter 1

In case you guys freak out at me, I AM Yumekaze117 from Deviantart. Helloz, don't believe me? Go and check my journal.

Oh and I was one of many fans who emailed fanfiction categories frantically about creating an Ib section. Yays~

Chapter 1:

Cobalt rose petals carpet the floor, torn from an emerald stalk with the force of jealousy and madness. A girl's elegant scream rips across the room as a painting blazes in a dozen hues of crimson and gold, crumbling into monochrome ashes.  
As storm-colored eyes closed, scarlet eyes opened.

-  
_Where am I? It's so dark...Ib. Did she make it out?_  
In front of Garry's eyes, the darkness evaporated into a blank white space. He slowly rose to his feet, blinking. Before him stood a pale-haired man and an easel. Lifting his eyes from the canvas, the man looked at Garry and gave him a gentle smile.  
Garry stared at him in shock. Those eyes, lips, cheekbones- in one glance Garry disassembled the man's face and reconstructed it again to make sure he was correct.  
That was his face, Garry's face. But...he could only gaze numbly in shock as the man opened his mouth and said;  
"I am Weiss Guertena."

"Ib, shall we begin?" Silently, the crimson-eyed girl nodded and opened the violin case with delicate musician's fingers. She took a second to lightly stroke the warmly gleaming wood, then lifted the instrument out of its velvet nest with an accustomed ease, mahogany-colored hair swishing to the side. Clasping the violin in her hands, she approached her teacher, who was standing a few feet away. Frowning, he turned his back to her and started pacing. "Ib, it's been ten years since I started teaching you. Do you remember? You were merely a little nine-year old girl, but you came up to me during that concert and asked if you could learn. Hmph, you did have some nerve." His tone softened. "But you were right. Of all the violinists I've taught, I've never met someone who could transfer such incredible passion and beauty into their music."  
Ib stood there, her head bowed as she continued to listen.  
"In a few days from now, there will be a small but very prestigious performance at an art gallery dedicated to the renowned artist Guertena-"  
_Guertena? Where did she hear that before? Why was it making her heart clench in such...pain?_  
"Ib? Ib, are you listening?"  
"Y-yes, Professor!" She stuttered as he raised a bushy eyebrow.  
"Very well. Let us begin."

-  
"No way...it's impossible...you're Guertena? The creator of that MONSTROSITY THAT KILLED ME?" Garry's eyes blazed in rage as he glared at the man who could have been his twin.  
"None of this was my intention, Garry. I had no idea my own artwork would turn against me when I placed my emotions into them." Guertena turned back to his easel, dabbing yellow onto the paint-streaked canvas. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. "When you are in the darkest hellhole of despair- humans tend to find a way to deal with it. I thought that if I transferred my feelings into my art, I would feel better." Garry stepped closer, shoving his hands into his pockets.  
"I don't get it. Why do you and I look so similar? How is this even possible?"  
"Good questions. But I cannot answer some of them. I suppose you've heard about the cycle of souls and the concept of reincarnation?"  
"That doesn't work out, your 'soul' is still here."  
"You're only a physical reincarnation of me. Fate works in many strange ways; it is often guided by desire. You sacrificed yourself for someone- something I wish I could have done."  
"...Ib."  
"Yes." Guertena's eyes darkened as he stared down at his paint-covered hands. "She looks incredibly like her."  
"I'm confused..her? Ib sort of looks like the Lady in Red, but I read somewhere that the Lady in Red was only meant to represent the women who wanted your fame and money."  
"The Lady in Red IS intended to represent those women. But her appearance is derived from someone I knew a long time ago, because they tried to take her place." He sighed and reached for a different paintbrush. "That person is long gone to me, but I have a feeling your Ib is going to return soon. You can't stay here much longer, it's already been years in the real world."  
"Years?"  
"Time works differently in these places. You're technically not dead, but you're not alive. I call it 'in suspension'. "  
"..Then what about you?"  
"I'm dead."

Most people noticed her these days. She really did long for the time when she was just a little girl, tiny and completely unnoticeable. Despite the multitude of compliments she received on her appearance, Ib never really felt as if they were talking about her- in her heart, she still felt like a child. A confused and lost child.  
The gallery was completely bewildering to her. Everywhere she looked, she was immediately struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. She spent five minutes just staring at the fallen petals in Embodiment of Spirit and resisting the strange urge to pick them up and reattach them to the sculpture. As for the Lady in Red and Death of an Individual, she couldn't help but shudder and give them a wide berth. As she walked up the stairs, the lights flickered-  
_Footsteps. Letters on the walls and floors. A banging hand on the cloudy window, the feeling of dread as red liquid-no, blood oozed past the edge._  
What _was_ this?  
She had definitely been here before. With her parents. Everyone disappeared.  
Mechanically, Ib walked up the stairs and placed herself in front of the piece called Forgotten Portrait.  
Surrounded by brilliant blue roses, a sleeping young man leaned against a wall in the dark, one eternal tear trickling down his cold cheek.  
_Garry. Garry?_  
Something inside Ib snapped as cold realization washed over her.  
They had traveled together...in a labyrinth of colors, chased by demented portraits of women and headless mannequins. His gentle voice reassuring her despite his own fears. The warmth of his coat draped over her, a sweet lemon-flavored surprise in the pocket. His hand returning her crimson rose;  
_"Don't lose it now, ok? Keep it safe, Ib."_ And with every step they took after that, another blue petal dropped.  
_"I don't want to lie to you...but I...don't want to tell the truth either... If you need help...I'll come running..."_  
Blue petals scattered all over the stairs and floor, the stark outline of an naked stalk lying forlornly on the ground. In rage and fear she told herself that he wasn't dead, he was only sleeping. And with that, the painting of a lonely, golden-haired girl went up in flames.  
Ib's tears splattered on the floor, clouding her vision.  
_I left him. Ten years, oh god..._  
A strange grinding noise made Ib jump. She looked up in shock as Garry's portrait swung backwards into the wall to reveal a dark passageway. Ib stood there for a few seconds in silence, remembering the horrific hands that stretched out from the walls, the scrawled, random graffiti, the possibility of _never returning, ever again..._  
Her hands clenched into fists as she stepped into the shadows without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

"Garry, she's back."  
"What? Who?"  
"Ib. Look." Guertena tilted the easel towards Garry. Much to his shock, Ib was running down a dark hallway, her chocolate hair flying out behind her.  
"She came back...for me..." Garry's eyes widened as he noticed something. She was older, perhaps in her late teens. The pretty, tiny little girl he knew no longer existed- in her place was a strong, incredibly beautiful young woman. Her face was pale, but showed no physical sign of wavering; in fact, he saw the determination clearly etched on her face.

She was not going to give up. Despite everything they had been through; the dolls, the mannequins, the portraits- she was coming back for him. To find him.  
"I...oh god." Tears streamed down his face as his heart flopped painfully. Guertena gave him a bittersweet smile and softly murmured half to himself;  
"Love destroys all fear and anger in the end, I suppose."

-

Ib was glad that she had been smart enough to tear off her heels as soon as she found herself back in the gallery. They were useless for running in, and she knew the hallways were softly carpeted. She didn't recognize where she was, but she _had_entered the place through a different entrance. The walls were a strange brown color, different from the red, blue, and green hues she remembered from last time.

_Where are you? If I called out your name, would you respond?  
If you need help...I'll come running...  
But this time, you're the one who needs help...I'll be the one running. But where are you?  
Where are you?_

She kept an eye out for lady portraits as she passed by several artworks, her fists tightly clenched in the black satin of her dress. At the end of the corridor was a door; cautiously, she grasped the doorknob and creaked it open.

A small table with a vase on it stood directly below a large, completely black painting. Ib smiled as she reached out and carefully pulled out a single red rose from the vase, its petals luscious and bright. She gracefully walked around the table and read the painting's description.

"Unknown. This strange piece was found in Guertena's studio at the time of his death. Several experts have analyzed the painting and there is evidence that something lies behind the heavy coat of black paint, but many fear that the removal of the paint will damage the piece. It is still kept in Guertena's collection out of his respect to his wishes." Ib shrugged and turned around to face the door-

_PLEASE HELP ME._

Ib stared. Random graffiti again? But it looked very different from the childish scrawls; it was written in a fine, feminine script. She turned around to look at the black painting again. There was something strange about it, but not in a malevolent way. Perhaps it was the key to finding Garry and freeing him from the dimension...Ib made a mental note to come back to the room, then stepped out back into the hallway.

"Guertena?" The pale-haired painter turned around to glance at Garry, who had quietly sat down beside the easel. "Who was the woman you said Ib looked like?" A pained expression crossed Guertena's face as he set down his palette and brush.  
"That woman...well, how should I put it? People come in all different sizes and shapes. They may be dull, bright, gritty, mottled- but when you find someone who is perfectly vibrant, so brilliant that no one can compare..." Guertena closed his eyes and sighed.  
"You loved her." Garry quietly played around with the tattered edge of his coat. Guertena gazed down at him.

"...It was more than that. I never knew I was capable of feeling so strongly...but I suppose it's the same reason why my artwork is so demented." A wry imitation of a smile twisted Guertena's lips as his fingers fumbled for the next brush.

Ib panted as she quickly slammed the door shut and crumpled to the ground, sinking to her knees. Her peaceful wanderings had been quickly interrupted after turning around a corner to find herself face-to-face with a Lady in Green. After that encounter, everything jumped out at her; a mannequin head flying past her head by a few inches, dolls scampering along the bookshelves- she was sick of it. In a few seconds, however, she pulled herself together.  
_I have to find him, I owe him that. He saved my life._

_And don't I love him?_  
Startled, Ib snapped her head up in shock as the thought resonated through her mind. That was impossible; she had only known him for a few hours in that dark, terrifying time...

_But still..._ Ib scowled. What was she doing, musing about a nonexistent love life? Her job was to find Garry and get him out of here. She was his friend, it was her responsibility. Slowly rising to her feet, she glanced around the large room she had entered. It was mainly filled with books and boxes, but she kept herself on guard- there was always the possibility of something springing out and she didn't relish the idea of running back out into the infested hallway just yet. Shaking her head, her eyes skimmed the shelves for any potential book that would help her navigate her way to the "sketchbook".  
_I'm scared though...wasn't that place Mary's own creation? If I killed her..wouldn't it collapse into nothingness? But then again, it didn't disappear when I left the room to go to the pink building.._  
Suddenly, the glint of a gold-embossed book called Rosengarten came into her sight. The name was in a different language, probably German, but it had a strange appeal. Ib reached up and took the book down, opening it.

-  
Vienna, 1911.  
The lights are bright in the rich, ultramarine night. The wind ruffling his pale hair, a promising young artist leans into the cool air over the Wienfluss's rippling surface, his slender hands tight around the cold iron railing of the bridge. With a smile, he bids the lovely sight of the illuminated water farewell and steps away, striding along the street with a casual air.  
Ahead of him is a woman going in the opposite direction, struggling with several books and a violin case. Suddenly, with a sharp cry, she trips-  
"Are you alright?" The promising young artist catches her, while the rest of her belongings scatter on the pavement.  
"Oh! Thank you, I'm so clumsy.." The woman looks up at him with a bashful smile.  
It is in that moment that Weiss Guertena's heart stops. It stops beating and stares at the delicate porcelain face, the gleaming ruby-wine eyes framed with long, long dark lashes, and the gentle, embarrassed smile. But unlike most dreamers, Guertena hasn't given himself away yet, not to a random pretty face. He knows appearances can be deceiving, but he decides to give it a try anyway.  
Besides, living in solitude isn't really that enjoyable.  
So he talks, and laughs. And somehow, it works out. They scramble to pick up everything, and he offers to carry her violin, but she insists on clinging to it.  
"It's a Stradivarius, called Fleming." she tells him. "It was given to me by my teacher, and it's very old and valuable. I'd rather die than sell it."  
They say goodbye to each other after a few streets down, the streetlamps glowing dimly. As he strolls home, the taste of her name is still fresh on his lips.  
_Ivonne._

-  
"Ivonne?" Garry stared at Guertena. "She used a Stradivari? I thought those were extremely rare and expensive instruments."  
"They are. But personally, I don't think it's just the origin of the instrument that makes them so popular and well-known. It's the person who plays it."

-  
"Ivonne Reinhardt?" Ib tilted her head to the side as she examined the name written on the back of the cover in the book. "Why does this look and sound familiar?" Reinhardt...Reinhardt.. of course! She was the violinist who had composed the piece Ib was supposed to play at the performance. A talented prodigy even in the musical capital of Vienna, Ivonne had composed four sonatas. Only one survived the chaos after war, and it was a remarkable composition, full of emotion and very complicated. Ib flipped through the rest of the book, but everything was in German and she couldn't read anything. Judging from the few pictures in the book, it was a retelling of Sleeping Beauty.  
_Wait a second..._  
Ib's eyes widened as she tossed the pages back and stared at Ivonne's name, written neatly on the smooth white page.  
_That handwriting...It was the SAME handwriting on the back of the door._


	3. Chapter 3

In the depths of the gallery, something was stirring. Guertena had embedded his feelings into his artwork, giving them life; but he hadn't expected that it would become an independent entity, capable of thought and creation...  
When Garry "died" and left the gallery to join Guertena in his little white world, the dimension sucked all of his negative thoughts and feelings away, allowing it to manifest a malevolent being.  
It was literally a doppelganger of Garry, made from the fear of being abandoned and his concealed anger. The air shimmered as hands, legs, and torso formed. Then it stepped out, fully clothed in torn jacket, with the same ruffled hair and gentle demeanor-  
But its eyes...were they really the same? The color was the same, the size and shape...it was only the expression.  
This creature was _hungry._  
_He wanted Ib._

In the storeroom, Ib shivered and placed Rosengarten back on the shelf. Was Ivonne the one behind the black paint on the painting? What connection did she even have with Guertena? She rummaged through the miscellaneous items, hoping to find something to scrape off the black paint.

A paintbrush.

Gouache paints.

One _palette knife_.

Ib gulped. That was probably the best thing to use in this situation, but...

_Mary..._

With trembling fingers, Ib took the palette knife. She didn't know exactly why, but there was this odd feeling she had; if she managed to help Ivonne, she would be helping Garry. Squaring her shoulders, Ib prepared to leave the room.

"Why did you paint Mary in the first place?" Garry winced as he remembered how she ripped his rose to shreds.  
"Mary...she was my last piece. Ivonne loved children, and I thought I'd honor her by painting one. A beautiful little girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes. I didn't realize she would be my last effort, and so developed...I suppose she embodied a searing loneliness, the hunger for love and companionship, even though she couldn't learn what friendship truly meant." Guertena absentmindedly wiped elephant-gray paint onto his smock.  
"Is she truly dead?"  
"As an individual being? Yes. Ib destroyed her painting, so she is no longer capable of physically manifesting herself. But that doesn't mean she's gone; she's now part of the whole dimension. Besides, something else replaced her, and I don't think you're going to like him."  
"What?" Garry leaned over to look at the easel. Walking nonchalantly along a corridor was an exact copy of himself, hands in pockets. Despite the multitude of mannequins and portrait ladies swarming in the corridor, _this_ Garry looked like he was taking a casual stroll in the park...but the expression in his eyes...  
"You should be worried for Ib. He wants her as much as Mary did, but keep in mind; Mary was only a little girl with a knife. You're a full-grown man, and even though he's not armed, he's much more dangerous."  
"What should I do? I can't help Ib from here!"  
"Yes you can. I've been helping you two from here as well. Technically, this is merely an observation room, but you can leave her messages on the wall if you wish. But they have to be short. I don't think it's a good time to tell her something though, she's running from a mannequin."  
"...I can't stand those things."

Ib gasped as she tumbled into Ivonne's room, coughing as two petals dropped from her rose. She groaned and heaved herself upright, then stuck her rose into a vase nearby. Grasping the palette knife tightly in her hand, she approached the painting uneasily. She didn't want to hurt the artwork; it was older than the rest of Guertena's pieces by a few years and was considered to be in delicate condition, but she had to try. Gingerly, she reached out-  
It wasn't black paint. Ib's eyes widened and the palette knife clattered to the floor. The "black paint" was now some strange dark mist floating _directly_over the painting!  
Ib scowled in frustration. There had to be something she could do to remove the foggy-like substance from the painting's surface. It probably had to do with Ivonne's past, or perhaps some dangerous puzzle nearby. She backed away carefully, scooping up the palette knife, and turned around to see more graffiti on the door.

_VIOLIN SONATA 1 SONATA 3 SONATA 4_

Confused, Ib turned back to stare at the piece. The black vapor drifted around the piece without any sign of relenting or dispersing. Desperately, Ib tried to think of the places a violin and three sonatas could be hidden.  
The truth was; anywhere.  
Ib slumped in disappointment. _Just when I thought I found something too..._ She shook herself. They had to be somewhere nearby. Concealed in a painting, in a mannequin; Ib had to try. She reached out to open the door-  
It swung open by itself. With a shriek, Ib leaped backwards... and then gaped in shock as the silhouette of a familiar figure filled the doorway.

_"Garry?"_Tears came to her eyes as she stared at him disbelievingly. His gentle smile approached her as he walked forward and stroked her hair.  
"Where were you, Ib? I was looking for you."  
The blood froze in Ib's veins. Those words. It was the same thing the fake Garry had said to her when she was about to leap into the painting, back to the real world. She backed away from him, her eyes large with terror.

"Ib? What's the matter?" The doppelganger smiled sadly. "Are you leaving me again? I only want you to stay with me, Ib."  
Ib swallowed. He was in front of the door- there had to be some alternative to getting out of the room. Behind her, the black mist started swirling into a circular pattern.  
"Besides, Ib, you and I should stay here. People outside are cruel; we have so many friends here!"

_This was like Mary all over again..._

She stepped back again, her eyes on him as he came closer, the look on his face darkening.  
"Are you afraid of me, Ib? Why? I thought we were friends- I love you, Ib, please stay-" With a cry, Ib, turned around and threw herself into the whirling vortex of black mist, disappearing into the unknown.

_?__  
"Hello, Ib."_A woman's voice. Quiet, yet musical._"I no longer exist in this world, but someone dear to me still remains here."_A pause. _"You know him, I think. And the one you're looking for is very similar to him."_  
Floating in the darkness, Ib could only listen as the woman continued.  
_"I can't help you much, I'm afraid. But I think you should know more about why this place came to be; it might help you free the person you want to help, along with...other lost souls. Watch carefully, Ib. These are my memories."_  
Suspended in the gloom, Ib could only attempt to shield her eyes as she was thrown headfirst into a colorful, luminous past.

Vienna, August 1912.  
She is poised, waiting. Bathed in ten thousand lights and surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people. The stage somehow doesn't feel solid to her; in fact everything feels like a dream.  
_Will he come? Is he here already?_  
Furiously, her amaranth eyes scan the crowd-  
_He's here._  
Weiss Guertena looks up at the violinist on the stage, and watches as her nervous expression morphs into one of brilliant joy. She flashes a radiant smile at him as he waves. Leaning back in his seat, he contemplates the graceful arch of her arm as she lifts her violin and takes a deep breath. He's never heard her play before, despite hearing all the compliments and praise she's been given from famous musicians.  
So it is a huge shock to him when he listens to her music for the first time, because the sheer beauty of it is overwhelmingly powerful and delicate at the same time. She plays with a strong passion; the music drips off the elegant bow like gliding silver raindrops, then pours into the room and washes over everyone like a summer rain with the sun still in the sky.

Later, he waits for her as she packs everything away with exceptional care. No words are exchanged, but they smile quietly as they walk home, stopping to look at the ever-incandescent Wienfluss, its gentle streaming of water carrying the shadows of strolling lovers away. They lean over the iron railing, clasping it in their young, hopeful hands.

"It's been a year since we met each other here, hasn't it? Ivonne turns to look at him, laughing.  
"I was such a clumsy airhead; dropping things all over the place." Guertena joins in, grinning at the memory.  
"Who knew that such a butterfingered girl would turn out to be such a superb musician?" Ivonne looks at him and swats his arm playfully, then sighs as she glances back at the shining water.  
"I suppose...tonight was perhaps my best performance."  
"Why do you say that?" He blinks at her. "I thought you were always exceptional, judging from the remarks."  
"...Skill and passion are two different things, Weiss. I had the skill, but up until now I didn't know how to truly play for someone, because...I never had anyone to play for."

Ivonne's eyes darken as she gazes into the darkness of the Wienfluss, her hair flowing back in the wind. Weiss stares at her; he had never seen someone look like that before...someone so fragile, beautiful, and _alone_.

Something that had been in Weiss's heart from the moment he started talking to her on that simple day cracks at this moment. It is hard to describe; but it is full of hope, and other indescribable feelings. But it is this cracking, this tiny seed opening and putting out a root, that makes him pull her closer.

As he does so, he realizes why he wants to protect her.

Because they share the same capacity to love, the same ardor, but they both are all alone in the world.

Now they have each other.

So he takes matters into his own hands, literally; he brushes the stray strand of silky brown hair from her face and tastes the delicate sweetness of her lips- they are both crying, but that's fine.

They have each other now.


	4. Chapter 4

"I remember how she laughed when I took to her to my favorite cafe, and we had macarons; they were so delicious, and we made a whole show about feeding each other." Guertena's eyes glimmered with a faint, wistful happiness as he remembered the surprised expression on her face when he popped the strawberry macaron into her mouth.  
"Those were good days, weren't they?" Garry smiled at the pale-haired artist, who nodded and continued to mix away at a pleasing blend of coppery brown.  
"...I only wished it lasted the rest of my life."

The fake Garry was in an absolute rage. He had no idea where _his_ Ib had disappeared to, and to make matters worse, there was a completely annoying green mannequin that kept throwing palette knives at him.  
There was something very, _very_ strange about that mannequin. It had attached a head to its neck, and somehow even acquired a blonde wig. It seemed familiar, but he had other things to do. Pacing back and forth in front of the strange painting was not a smart idea, so he decided to step out into the corridor (carefully, because even though the palette knives didn't really do anything, it was still very irritating.)  
To his complete annoyance, however, the mannequin was lounging around. With a long finger, it beckoned to him. He scowled, but walked towards it. A crayon-textured message was scrawled next to it.

_Wanna work together? For her. For Ib._

The fake Garry grinned.

Vienna, November 1912.  
The snow is slowly drifting down past the crystalline, sugar-frosted windows. Pressing her warm hands against the cold glass eagerly, Ivonne lets out a deep breath, and draws in the fog. Behind her, Weiss smiles and turns back to his painting. Ever since that day...  
_A kiss shared in the warmth of a August night, tears bright and happy on flushed cheeks.._  
His artwork was now vibrant, with many shades of supplementary colors. Sketches of Ivonne fills his sketchbooks; Ivonne laughing, Ivonne playing the violin, Ivonne dancing away from him in the street, Ivonne smiling...  
Every day, he wakes up and finds himself already smiling at what the day might bring. The feel of her delicate hand in his own, or perhaps the slight, butterfly-wing brush of her lips against his mouth.  
Like right now.  
_Crafty,_he thought. Slipping into his arms while he was off daydreaming. But he doesn't mind, and tightens his arms around her as she buries her face into his neck.  
"Weiss, it's your birthday soon...twenty-three, does that number hold any significance for you?"  
"Hmm. I suppose so. After all, this is my first birthday with you." Ivonne laughs, and then swipes a blob of blue paint from his palette and dabs it onto his cheekbone. Weiss jerks away in surprise.  
"Hey!" Grinning, he pulls away, and raises a thin paintbrush. "Back off, I have a weapon!" She giggles and dodges as he waves the crimson paintbrush in her direction. He steps closer, smirking. "Who has the advantage now, _Liebe_?" Ivonne glances behind her; _Oh drat. The sofa's in the way.._  
Weiss advances..and trips over the crumpled rug at his feet.  
Landing quite conveniently on his startled lover.  
"What-!"  
"Oh! I'm sorry, Ivonne, are you alright-" He stops.  
Although he knew she was beautiful from the moment he saw her, she suddenly looks like a goddess. Pinned beneath his arms, she looks temptingly vulnerable. Dark, rich hair splayed back on the cream-colored couch, her carmine eyes wide with surprise and...what _was_ this? Weiss stares at her in awe, breathing slowly.  
Without a word, she pulls him closer.

Ib raised an eyebrow in bemusement as everything went dark.  
_Like when I found THAT book and Garry told me, "Don't read this until you're older." I really think 19 is old enough to handle something so 'shocking'._

The fake Garry scowled as he lost another round of poker to the green mannequin. In the end, they had decided that the best thing to do was wait for Ib to return from the black painting.  
So here they were. Playing cards. It was really quite frustrating how the silent thing (_Marise? Mary?_) kept winning. Its behavior was very childish at times; he even sensed it was pouting when he finally managed to win a few rounds.  
_Oh well,_ he thought. This time he was _not_ losing.

Vienna, June 1913.  
They are inseparable. Hands entwined, smiles constant. Their days shine with gold, sky-blue, and the crimson fragrance of red, red roses.  
Weiss counts each memory in colors. The superb mahogany of the Fleming Stradivarius as Ivonne lifts it to her shoulder, glistening notes of music forming like dewdrops on velveteen petals.  
The light, vanilla-scented sheen of her skin as she drowsily throws an arm around his waist in sleep.  
Ivonne also finds herself remembering every detail. The gentle smile Weiss gives her in the morning, his silver eyes glinting as he leans over to kiss her.

It would last forever and ever, a never-ending carousel ride of sheer joy and laughter.

In the early morning, Weiss slips away as Ivonne gets ready for a performance. He promises to meet her at the theatre; laughing, she teases him and asks for only one rose as a sign of his appreciation. She waves to him from the upstairs window, studying his outline as he strides away.  
At the store, two engraved silver rings sit solidly in his palm, the metallic warmth radiating an aura of hope. Whistling, Weiss strolls out as the salesman calls out _"Viel Glück!"_

_Good luck. Really?  
The sky that day was a beautiful shade of blue. The type of blue that Ivonne always dreamed of, the blue she wished a rose could be._

Hands grab at his jacket as he turns around to hear the words smash like falling bricks in his ears.  
"Please, Mr. Guertena! It's Miss. Reinhardt-"  
"An automobile accident-"  
"So much blood-"  
But this isn't real, is it? There's no way _his_ Ivonne...  
_His Ivonne_.

This is not him. That mindless monster running past people at a terrifying speed is not him. Nor is that furiously beating heart his.  
_Please oh god why no, it's not her- she's fine. She's fine. It's someone else, or I heard wrong, or-_  
"TELL ME WHERE IVONNE REINHARDT IS!" His hands, his damn useless hands! They're about to rip off the counter of the desk at the hospital. Wordlessly, the nurse points. Tears rise to the brim of her eyes as she watches the young man race down the corridor, as if he could arrive in time and stop the Fates from cutting away his love's life.  
But it is not to be.

The room is quiet. The white-robed doctors and nurses edge away without a sound as he slowly steps to the small figure lying in the disgustingly immaculate white bed.  
She is still breathing. Hair matted with the darkening, congealing blood. A single tear runs down her cheek as her barely open eyes take in the sight of him.  
"I love you, Weiss... I love you." _If you need me...I'll come running.."I promise."_

The world tilts away from him as her fingers grow cold, her talented, music-creating fingers. The colors whirl away from him, abandoning him in a monochrome landscape.

He doesn't notice when they take her away, gently detaching his hand from hers. He also doesn't notice when his friends arrive to take him home. They pull out the keys from his pocket, and notice the silver rings. Liquid sorrow and pity run down the grooves of their faces, but he does not notice.  
There is nothing.  
_Nothing._

But there is something about humanity. Even in the darkest hellhole, they manage to survive, somehow. Weiss Guertena's heart never heals. But he pulls the crack together, by destroying everything.  
Every painting, every sculpture, everydamnthing. But he stops at one. To look at it kills him all over again.

It's _her_. A portrait of her, her eyes sparkling, _so alive.._  
He can't destroy it. But he can't look at it either, or the sketches of her. So he buries them away in his studio, carefully wrapping everything; her violin, the few notes and compositions carefully tucked away.

When a man (her cousin) arrives with a few belongings in a box, he can't help but weep again. She had so little in the world, but she opened her heart to everyone-

He starts anew. Fresh stark primary colors. As if he were a child again. They have no definite form, but everything is distorted, as if seen through the tear-stained broken eyes of an equally broken man.  
He misses his solitude. _Why,_he thinks, _is it so hard to go back to being alone?_ Several mannequins thrown out from a local store catch his attention.  
_Death of an Individual._  
Women come often, these days. Most would assume a grieving artist would be ostracized. But he is even more famous these days for his dark, depressing style; so different from the vivid and bright strokes he used before. So they come in greed, and he ignores all of them. _They'll never take her place._  
_Ladies in color._  
Five years pass. The country is close to turmoil, but it won't affect him. His health is slowly deteriorating, and he doesn't care, not a bit. In the morning, cigarette stubs litter the floor, the nicotine deadening his dying lungs as he clutches the sheets, heaving and gasping for air. A thin trickle of crimson drips onto the sheets.  
At this point, he is working on his last project. A little golden-haired, blue-eyed girl.  
_Weiss, do you see her? That little girl? Isn't she adorable? I'd love to have a daughter of my own.._

Although his technique is impeccable, he is making a huge mistake on the canvas. Starved for love...she would _kill_ for love...

One morning, he wakes up, sunken eyes and fogged vision. He shoots upright in bed, the sheets falling away from him. Did he just hear-  
_"Weiss. Weiss!"_  
"Ivonne?" _Finally,_he thinks. _I'm going to see her. They're finally taking me away._

Unfortunately, that was not true.


	5. Chapter 5

_It's so dark...so very dark._He knows for sure he's dead, but he can still hear the beating of his concrete heart against his steel ribs, taut skin stretched across metal framework.

She's not here. The darkness slides away as he blinks with non-existent eyelids and sucks in a breath with quicksand-filled lungs.

This world is empty. There is no Ivonne waiting for him with open arms and a warm smile. Nothing but blankness, miles and miles of empty, empty loneliness.

It's too much.

The realization that he is forever trapped in a cage of his own design- he can only watch numbly as he sinks to his iron knees, acidic tears burning holes into his eyes, his hands.

Over the endless decades, he gets accustomed to it. Watching as his artwork takes on a life of its own, devouring people, spitting them back out if they are indigestible.

Behind carnivorous, candy-colored bars consisting of mannequins and lady fingers, he can only dream pointlessly.

Until they arrive. A tiny, crimson-eyed girl and a tall, young, pale-haired man, lanky in his newfound adulthood.  
They cry and laugh, they run and stop, and when one falls behind and sleeps, the other found the strength to climb out, back into the world of macarons and laughter.

But he's shocked when the tiny girl comes back.  
Not because of the fact that she willingly sacrificed her happiness for someone she barely knew, someone she only remembered in what seemed like a distant dream.

It was something Ivonne would have done.

So that was what Ib and Ivonne both shared. The ability to face their greatest fears, just to save one person. Some call it courage, others call it love.

_But who's to say it's not both?_

_Perhaps,_he thinks to himself, _there is a chance he will break free._

It's up to you, Ib. This is what you have. You're almost there.  
Don't give up on us.

-  
WIth a gasp, Ib was unceremoniously hurled out of the black painting. She caught a flash of a startled Fake Garry and a-_green mannequin?_before she fainted.

_Ow...  
Oh. Fake Garry. Mannequin. This was not a good situation- wait. Where am I?_  
Creaking her bleary eyes open, Ib winced as she sat up. No sight of Fake Garry and green mannequin. She let out a sigh of relief and observed her surroundings.  
White...crayon walls?  
_Blue petals..._  
Ib's eyes widened. Garry's rose...she had left him leaning against the wall here! Her heart hammering away, she dashed down the childish hallway, ignoring the still-fresh rose petals beneath her feet.  
Slumped against the wall, Garry's body was still and quiet. Ib bit her lip to keep from crying as her eyes roamed over his navy jacket, his pale, ruffled hair.  
Tentatively, she reached out.

_Dammit._ Fake Garry scowled in frustration.  
The two of them had _not_ been prepared to see Ib flying out like some devastating angel from the dark mist. They had only a few seconds to see her sailing past them, her ruby eyes immense, and then she disappeared again.  
After that, a small squabble followed. Fingers pointed, words of blame; in the end he had abandoned the demented green mannequin and stalked away in the opposite direction.  
_Wait._ His head snapped up as he sensed something abnormal. Something was touching the lifeless, abandoned shell once known as Garry. The _real_ Garry.  
With a sudden grin, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be reabsorbed into the nearly-tangible material that gave malicious life to Guertena's pieces. Besides, it saved him time from walking all the way over there.  
He knows for _sure_it's Ib.

Quietly, rain-like tears fell down as Ib caressed Garry's soft, pale hair. His face was cold, bloodless lips slightly parted. She knew she was wasting time, but...  
_How am I going to help you? Are you really gone? Or are you still here?_  
With one last glance, she turns away, taking two steps in the velvety softness of the black crayon floor.

"Guertena! He's going to-" Garry paled as the doppelganger smoothly slid out from the wall, taking on a solid shape again. "L-Let me help her!" Guertena sighed.  
"Garry. At this point, a message isn't going to help. Trust her, she will figure out what to do."  
"But-"  
"There is much more to her than you think." Guertena turned away, smiling. "After all, although she looks vulnerable, Ib is much stronger than you think."  
_Just like her.._

"Ib..." Ib whirled around in horror. Even without seeing him, she knew it was not Garry, but the other..thing. It greeted her with a horrible parody of his comforting smile. "You can't run from me Ib, we belong here, together forever..." Sinuous arms wrapped around her as she stood there frozen, the tangled fluff of a torn jacket pressing against her face.

_Stand your ground. You need him._Ivonne's voice echoed and died away in Ib's ears. She looked up and stared into the glinting depths of quicksilver eyes; was that a flash of red behind them?

"Ib," he crooned, "There's nothing to worry about. I'll take care of you, I promised you that before. What's the matter?" She had lowered her eyes to his neck, her fists tightening in the folds of the navy coat. The doppelganger peered down at her in the perfect imitation of concern.

Exhaling, Ib composed herself, and then wrapped her arms around his waist. Fake Garry was stunned.  
_What?_

"You aren't him. Not the true, complete version of him." What was she doing? A spike of cold fear pierced through Fake Garry's mind. "I understand now, where you come from. You were born from his fear of being alone, being by yourself in the darkness. You've always lived on the side, scared of being rejected, scared of standing there in solitude-"  
_"STOP! IB, PLEASE!"_ The doppelganger howled in pain as he detached himself from her embrace, his eyes wide. _"Don't!"_ She raised her voice over his cries, her arms stretched out as she advanced towards him.  
"You're everything he didn't want to show; his anger, his sadness. Garry is that type of person, the person who doesn't want to lie, but he doesn't want others to worry about him too. But it's alright, you're still part of him." Fake Garry was now on his knees, his face streaked with streams of terror, pain...and relief?  
"It's alright. I'll accept you, because I _can_love him, both the good and the bad." The doppelganger's eyes were huge, looking down at the pale, long-fingered hands. With a crack, a rip, the Fake Garry disintegrated.

Ib gasped and fell to the ground, breathing heavily as a few pieces of sheet music fluttered to the ground. With a trembling hand, she pulled the first sheet of yellowed paper towards her. Although the title and annotations were in German, she smiled as she thought about how music was another universal language that transcended time; at another place and moment, Ivonne was busily writing away and humming to herself. Ib gathered the sheets with a quiet reverence and smiled to herself.

Garry gaped at the easel in shock while Guertena smirked and leaned against the paint-stained stool behind him.  
"She...she..destroyed him."  
"Yes, and if you were capable of hearing what she said, I suppose you'd be even more shell-shocked." Guertena drily noted. "Whatever it was, I'm not sharing it with you." Garry looked at him, round-eyed.  
"Why?"  
"Because it's something you'll discover on your own." And with that, Guertena slipped from his position against the stool, landing on the floor with several wet palettes on his head. "...I have yet to discover the ability to manage that." He scowled as he lifted a now-green and sticky strand of hair away from his face.  
Garry stared at him in mute sympathy.  
"Don't worry. I've done worse." Silence reigned for only a few seconds before the two burst out laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

_Why are you in this room? How did you get in here?_

Get out. GET OUT!.

Ib...she burned her portrait with the lighter...it didn't hurt, really. She didn't have a concept of being hurt.

After all, she was only a fake. A faux little girl, pretty and happy with blonde, bubbly curls and wide blue eyes. The picture of innocence- but only a picture.

She didn't really know what any of these things meant though.

_What was anger?_

What was pain?

What was sadness?

She knew the words, but like a color-blind child, she was never capable of attaching any of them to the multicolored blend that raged like a thunderstorm in her head. After a while, the "feelings" arranged themselves neatly. She learned to use them, like masks, but the masks always fell off when people realized who she was.

_What_ she was.  
So she waited, and waited. The dolls, paintings, and books kept her company. Letters, words, and sentences that she automatically knew how to read were the only windows to a world she could almost taste...a world she wanted to belong in.

She wanted to be real. She wanted to be held in a parent's arms, scolded at for being naughty, laughed at teasingly for something silly.  
No matter...no matter how hard she smiled, no matter how hard she tried...they always left her in the end.  
She _hated_ people.  
But she imagined being one of them. A _real_ little girl.

_Like Ib._  
It was a futile wish, an evanescent dream that flew away immediately after its birth, riding on the slowly crumbling wings of a burning butterfly.  
It was both Mary's greatest quality and fault. A never-ending, tireless hope that stretched on and on.

However, some things are just not meant to be.

_What is happiness?  
Will I ever find it? Will I ever know?_

Ib's face was pale as her heart seemed to thud loudly every few seconds. The sonata had been carefully placed in Ivonne's room, and now...  
_What to do?_ But she knew the answer, and dreaded it.

_Mary._

Ib knew that beneath the hatred she had for the young girl, there was something else. Sympathy, perhaps, because Ib had the chance to grow up and experience life outside of the gallery. Unlike Mary, she had her parents, her friends, Garry-

Mary had no one. Forever wandering in the labyrinthine corridors of an eternally nightmarish carnival, Mary never knew the love of a mother, or the warmth of a friend's hand. And she knew it, but her desire to learn was warped into a hellish hunger for other people, a cannibalistic instinct.

_I want to go outside! But, to do that, I need to take the place of another person..._  
Ib closed her eyes and waited.  
She knew Mary would find her soon.

-

Mary's mind was still in pieces after Ib flung herself out of the black painting.  
_She's an adult now...why..._ This Ib was not the same girl she had wanted to be. This Ib was even farther away than the little girl she had known, because she was older. Something scared her about that.; Ib was now unfamiliar to her.  
And Mary didn't know what to do, or what to say.

_Are you still Ib? If you held my hand, would it still feel like the Ib I used to know? Why is it that...I don't think you can be my friend anymore?  
Why did you hurt me?  
Was it because of him?  
Why was he so special to you?  
?_

Rounding a corner, the green mannequin jerkily tilted its head to the side as footsteps approached.

"Hello, Mary."

-

The silence was loud in the thick, tension-filled area.

Mary's new mannequin form was more than unnerving; it looked like a child's demented drawing. A tuft of straw-like hair stood up from the clumsy, white mannequin head, while the rest of the body was dark, sheathed in a grass-colored dress. Blank, painted blue eyes glared at Ib without blinking.

Ib stood there, gazing back. Her black dress was crumpled and waves of brown hair spilled over her slender shoulders, her toes digging into the carpet.

Awkwardly, the metallic, unsaid words hung in the air like a crooked, stained chandelier.

Mary stared at Ib.

Ib stared at Mary.

With a vicious snap, Mary miraculously managed to wrench the mannequin head's mouth open. Eerily, her young voice was dispensed through the black hole behind solid, unmoving lips.

_"I hate you."_

Ib spluttered as Mary lunged forward, pinning her down on the floor with cool, rigid hands.

_"I HATE YOU, YOU MURDERER. YOU LEFT ME THERE, BURNING, A PILE OF ASHES. WHY DID YOU DO IT, IB? JUST BECAUSE I RIPPED UP HIS ROSE, IS THAT IT? WE COULD HAVE STAYED TOGETHER!"_

A wave of dark rage came over Ib, her thoughts racing furiously.  
_Why did I do it? Because you hurt him! You-  
Stop it, Ib. Losing your temper is not going to help._A sudden, soothing calm washed over her.

_Sympathy..._

"Mary." The mannequin stopped shaking Ib, its blank expression focusing on her serene face. "To explain why I did that...I can't. Because I know it's beyond your comprehension. You don't know what emotions are, besides the ones you were created with, and the desires you had for the ones you didn't have."  
With a splintering of plastic, the mannequin shattered, revealing a blurry manifestation of a crying Mary. Her hands twisted tightly around Ib's arms as the useless, false tears splattered down.

"I only..I only want to _live!_. You're right, Ib- I _don't_ know what anything means, or what a true heart is. But I _want_ to know. I _want_ to be loved, as much as I love other people...I would try so hard, I honestly would...but I know that's impossible..."

"If only someone..._if someone could love me back, even for who I am, for what I am-_"

Mary froze as Ib reached up and wiped the tears away from her glistening blue eyes. It was the kindest thing any of the visitors had ever done...

"I guess I was wrong, Mary."  
"But-"  
"Guertena did give you the capacity to feel. The only problem was that you had no one to reciprocate. Is that the reason why you wanted to become real? So that others would love you?" Tearfully, Mary nodded.  
"I don't... I didn't want to..hurt people...I wanted so desperately for someone to stay with me-"  
"I know. Solitude isn't easy when you have a heart for loving." Cobalt eyes widened as Mary gaped down at Ib.  
"I can...I can love?" Ib nodded at her.  
"You can." Mary sat back on her haunches, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Ib. I know what you need to do, and I want to help. I just- does it hurt? Not being able to exist independently anymore..."  
"I don't know, Mary. But I think you're very different, even in this place. Perhaps...there is a happy ending for you, despite the fact that you're scared now."  
"You mean it?" Her childish words trembled with a frail hope.  
_"Yes."_

Slowly, Mary's eyelids unlocked, allowing her to look at Ib again.  
"Somehow, I think I'll manage. You won't forget me, right?"  
"I won't." Smiles were exchanged, and then Ib stretched out a hand. "I promise."

Mary hesitated. For a second, she looked _real_, a wary child, afraid and yet brave enough to attempt a journey into the unknown. Then with a sudden, sweet laugh, she grasped Ib's hand confidently.

Gently, her body broke away into thousands of melting, saffron butterflies. The last one lingered on Ib's fingertip; with a sigh, Ib bent forward and placed the lightest of kisses on its delicate laciness before it evaporated into nonexistence. At Ib's feet lay the second sonata.

Scooping the sheets up, Ib couldn't help but notice the imprint of a butterfly's wing on the aged paper.


	7. Chapter 7

"..I can't believe this..." Garry and Guertena stared at the easel as Ib rose, the second sonata in her hands. Guertena's eyes were wide and disbelieving. "She...I mean, I had high expectations for her, but...to peacefully subdue Mary...I didn't see that coming."  
Garry remained silent, his eyes tracing Ib's features.

_So much pain...it had taken all his strength to crawl away from that wretched blue woman, but his rose-_  
Dimly, he thought he sensed a presence. Gentle, small fingers pried the key away from his hand, and footsteps retreated. A few moments later, his vision cleared.  
Standing in front of him was a little girl. Out of fear that she was an enemy, he leaped backwards; but then he calmed down and peered at the petite figure standing in front of him with a bewildered  
expression.  
Whether it was the fact that she was the first friendly face he had seen since entering the gallery, or the fact that she looked tiny and vulnerable, his heart instinctively reached out to her.  
She was a tiny, quiet child, but in a reassuring way, with large eyes, long dark eyelashes and hair, her slight limbs doll-like and graceful. It made him happy when she curled her miniature hand around his and looked up at him as if she was seeking comfort, although they both knew that she was the stronger one, the one who was less startled.

_"What's your name?"__  
"I'm Ib."_

_Ib..._

"Garry, snap out of it!" He blinked, and then glanced at Guertena. "What were you doing?"  
"Oh...uh, reminiscing-"  
"This isn't the time for that." Guertena sounded agitated. "I don't know what's going to happen next; she's going somewhere; a place where we can't see her."  
"Another dimension? Like the one with the black painting?"  
"I think...I don't know, I have a feeling it's connected with that other side of me. The mad, hate-filled side that was born after Ivonne's death."  
"...I don't like the sound of that."  
"I suppose it's inevitable, if we're to get out of here. I think you've already realized it by now; all of the strong, individual physical manifestations have sonatas inside of them."  
"It's because Ivonne's music-"  
"Had the ability to 'give life'."

Ib didn't really know where she was going...her leaden feet were dragging, legs of stone slowly crumbling with fatigue. However, there was something that was pushing her on; _Ivonne_? Aimlessly, she wandered past corridors, rooms, and leering paintings before stopping at a large, mirrored wall.  
_G-Garry?_  
Instead of her own reflection, a pale-haired man sat at an easel, busily working. His slim figure and gentle fingers were constantly moving, in the same peaceful, mild manner as Garry's.  
Crying out, she ran into the nonexistent glass and disappeared.

Vienna, 1918.  
Everything is crashing. The world is crashing, falling to pieces as soldiers smash their way past border lines, people, towns...  
He is ignored. A grieving artist with little time to live is barely a threat to the glorious country. Every day, his fingers weaken and wither, and her lovely face lingers like the pain of torture in his mind. Every night, he begs God to take him away, dammit.

So when he _is_ removed from this world, his anger ricochets off the glassy walls of his prison with a magnificent force. Anger at himself, anger at his artwork, anger at Ivonne.  
He is only dimly aware of the fact that his logical, gentle side has split away from him, living a monochrome life of its own in some other jail. As the years melt by, his anger only intensifies.  
_Why did you leave me? If by any chance I see you again, I'll make sure you stay. I hate you.__  
I hate you.__  
I hate you for making me love you.  
I hate you for every smile you gave me; you were taunting me.  
I hate you because I loved you and you left me._

"Garry?" _That voice._ The dark-eyed Guertena whipped around in shock, his lips parting.

_"Ivonne?" So beautiful, the slender, graceful curves of her body, and the rippling of chestnut hair. The same rich, garnet eyes-_

"Ivonne? I'm Ib..." She blinked. _Was he Guertena, then? They looked similar, after all._ The man frowned in confusion.

What?

Ib?

"No, you're Ivonne...I know it..." WIth a desperate look, the demented Guertena rose from his seat, walking towards her. "You look exactly like her; no, you _are_ Ivonne!" Much to his surprise, she flinched and stumbled backwards.

"No, I'm not Ivonne!" Wild-eyed, he stopped and stared at her pleadingly.  
"Why are you doing this to me? Come back, Ivonne. Don't you remember anything?"  
"I'm telling you, I'm _not_ Ivonne!"  
"...Liar...I knew it...you left me.." Shaking in barely suppressed rage, he pulled out a glinting palette knife from his pocket. In a quiet, unnervingly gentle voice, he spoke; "My love..you'll stay with me forever-"

_"Ib!"_ Ib's eyes widened as Ivonne's voice rung in her ears. _"There's a wedding ring in your pocket; throw that at him!"_

"W-what?"  
_"Hurry!"_ Her fumbling hand closed around the reassuring solid form of a simple, silver ring. At the sight of it, the frenzied Guertena froze.

"Wait..is that.." The palette knife dropped with a loud clatter. "Don't do it! Please, no, I don't want to go out of existence-" The silver ring made a gleaming trail in the air as it hurtled at the wide, black eyes of a man driven to insanity by years of pain and mourning.  
In a matter of seconds, he evaporated into a thick, black fog that dissipated. Ib sighed in relief, and whispered a soft "Thank you" to Ivonne, whose presence still lingered.

_That was his wedding ring...he refused to wear it, because it reminded him...but Weiss..in order for this place to be destroyed, he must realize that he needs to gather himself and move on..._ Slowly, Ib felt Ivonne's aura ebb away. With a sigh, Ib took one last glance at the easel before she left the room.

Painted on it was a picture of Ivonne's room, the dark mist covering it now a light, filmy gray.


	8. Chapter 8

After picking up the water-stained pages of the last sonata outside of the mirrored room, Ib closed her eyes and leaned against a wall. She knew she didn't have much time left, but she was so tired and cold...her rose was still in her pocket. She hadn't looked at it ever since leaping out of Ivonne's painting, and she could tell that it was missing at least two petals. With a sigh, she rose, eyes shut, and took a deep breath as she faced the direction Ivonne's room was in, her fists clenched. Raising her head, Ib felt her determination and energy rushing back.  
_Hold on, Ivonne, Guertena...Garry...I'll be there soon._

"...Guertena? Guertena, are you alright?" Worriedly, Garry knelt down next to the slumped artist, shaking his shoulder. "Come on! Wake up!"  
"Ugh..." Guertena coughed and curled up. "I-Ivonne..."  
"What's wrong? Talk to me!"  
"She..she's going to come back...that other side of me came back, that bad side...I'm...almost complete again...God, it hurts..."  
"Huh? You mean your other side...it merged with you?"

"Guertena? GUERTENA!"

Ib swallowed._This..what...what was this?_  
She had absolutely no idea how to handle the current situation, and with good reason. Seeing Mary, Fake Garry, Guertena...ok, that was manageable, with a bit of help from Ivonne.  
But this...she had a nasty feeling about this, and she was sure Ivonne was incapable of helping her. This was the dimension's last defense mechanism, and it was horrific. Against the bleached, now colorless walls, a little girl stood in front of the door to Ivonne's room.

_Ib..._

She stared as the same pair of crimson eyes lifted their gaze from the floor, then to her knees, and finally her own eyes. In that eerily familiar, childish face, Little Ib's mouth twisted into a horrendous parody of a bashful smile.

"Hi, Ib." The doppelganger's voice was almost careless, casual.  
"Hello..." Adult Ib shivered as a crawly sensation went down her spine. What was she doing? Having a normal, pleasant conversation with her past self?  
"Ib, why are you hurting our friends?" The sudden question snapped the older one back to reality.  
"I-I...I'm not hurting them!"  
"But you tore out their hearts!" With an aggrieved expression, the dark-haired child pointed accusingly at the sonata in Ib's hand. "Why would you do that? _We_ loved Mary. _We_ loved Guertena. You, _I_ loved Garry."  
"I didn't hurt them! Besides, that Garry wasn't the real Garry-"  
"What gives you that proof? Didn't it occur to you that he _was_real, because he was still here?" The tiny girl's eyes darkened, her voice viciously sizzling through the air. "What are you even trying to do, Ib? You came back to _save_ him, not _kill_ him!"  
Ib felt herself falling, being sucked into the illogical, yet overwhelming words of Little Ib's argument.

_She was so tired...maybe her younger self was right..._ A warm wave of weariness washed over her.

Invitingly, the child beamed and stretched out a miniscule hand, her malevolence gone like a summer shower.  
"Come on, Ib. " Her voice was coaxing and soft. "There's still a chance to save them. And we'll all be happy together, and make our own world here. Everyone's wishes will be fulfilled, after all."

_Wishes?  
"I want to be real! I want to go outside and be loved, forever and ever!"  
"Please, let me out...I'll never see her, never again..."  
"Ah...I went to a cafe recently, and I had little hamburger-shaped candies called macarons! We will get out, Ib, and I promise to take you there!"_

"You know _nothing_ about wishes." The older Ib snarled, her eyes blazing. "There is no such thing as happiness in here, it's a hellhole made of despair and it feeds off everyone like a vulture on a fresh carcass. You _lie_. "

"Ib!"

"_I_ know their desires. You're right. I tore out their hearts. But I intend to give each and every one _back_-

"Ib, what are you saying-" Stepping forward, the elder's face was furious as her chamois hair flowed around her.

"If I give up to you now, I'm giving up everything and everyone. Guertena, Mary, Garry- they're counting on _me_. And if you think I'm going to let them down..." Ib's voice cracked. "I've already done that once. I don't intend to do so again."

"Happiness-"

_"I won't find a happy ending here, not with the way things are now! Stop imitating me and get out of my sight! I refuse to be you; I know I am selfish, jealous- but I won't let you take advantage of me!"_Older Ib took another step forward. _"Don't you get it?"_

I'm not a child anymore.

The younger Ib gaped at her, stunned; then with a high-pitched shriek, she staggered backwards as her limbs started melting away into radiant, scarlet rose petals. Within minutes, she was gone.

Solemnly, Ib glided towards the elegant wooden gleam of the Stradivari Fleming lying in the bed of roses. With gentle hands, she lifted the gorgeous instrument, marveling at its graceful curves as the dimension slowly began to break down around her, the white walls crumbling around Ivonne's room.

Confidently, she strode into the evaporating rubble, looking at the almost-transparent silver mist that hovered stubbornly over the painting. Somehow, the table with the vase had converted itself into a music stand, with the sonatas resting on it.

Closing her eyes, Ib heard voices echo in her mind as she lifted the violin to her shoulder-

_" I had the skill, but up until now I didn't know how to truly play for someone, because...I never had anyone to play for."_

Do I have someone to play for?

Strong, careful arms wrapped around, his warm breathing in her ears...the bittersweet taste of that lemon drop...a macaron-sweet promise made in the warmth of a false sun...

Like rain; spectacular, soul-cleansing rain, bright tears fell from her eyes as she remembered.

_In the wide, wide white expanse of a empty, heartless world, an artist slept, dreaming._

A room sat quietly, its only occupant a pile of untouched ashes.

Leaning against a silent wall, the still body of a beautiful sacrifice finally stirred.

Ib lifted the violin bow, and began.

Garry sat, staring at the easel in shock. _Ib?_ Besides him, Guertena gasped, his eyes flying wide open.  
_That music..  
Ten thousand lights and surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people, in a glimmering great hall of Vienna._  
But at the incandescent Wienfluss, she told him, while staring into that flaming river, that she had only played for him. /i

Slowly, the heartbroken man got up. Shards of him were falling to the ground, clattering; he knew that exquisite girl was not his Ivonne, but he loved her anyway. She was trying for everyone's sake.

In reverent silence, the two watched as Ib finished the first sonata, the silvery mist almost gone from Ivonne's painting.

Her tears were still flowing; every glistening drop was an addition to the stunning demolition of a place where everyone hid and ran in fear.  
_Don't hold back, Ib, give it all you've got._His voice was so reassuring...typical Garry.  
With a frenetic passion, Ib entered the second sonata, smiling through her hazy curtained eyes.

Garry gasped as the blindingly white walls of their prison began collapsing, bit by bit. Guertena stood there, watching in blinded happiness as he cried silently.  
_I'm free..._

Ivonne sighed inaudibly, and hummed along to the melody as she dreamed of past days.

_She really was in a hurry to get home; she hated getting caught in the dark. And like a klutz, she tripped-  
But instead of falling she found herself blinking at the intensity of striking, stormy eyes, then the angular, handsome features of the gentleman who had caught her.  
And although she was a fairly practical person, she knew in her heart of hearts that Weiss Guertena was someone she would give herself to, with a loyal, loving passion._

Ib entered the fourth and final sonata. It was a significantly moving piece, delicate and mindblowingly powerful. Her slender frame was bathed in the pure light of the dimension's glinting remains, the poised arch of her lovely arms prominent against the clean, airy space.  
Gradually, the silver mist began to lift from Ivonne's portrait, fluttering away in the form of withered petals.

"Guertena!" Dazed, the artist turned to look at the other man. "What are you doing? We can leave-" With a fearful desperation, the pale-haired man grasped Garry's sleeve.  
"Garry. What if she's not there, waiting for me?" His voice cracked. "She's been waiting so long..."  
"I know for certain she'll be there."  
"What?" Garry smiled- the same wistful way Guertena had smiled when he first entered the isabelline 'jail'.  
"She'll be there, Weiss. Just like how Ib came back for me, she's been waiting for you all along. Don't disappoint her."  
"...You're right." Trembling, the hopeful artist allowed himself to be led out by the younger man, their ears following the stream of vivid music.

Ib expertly navigated her way through the frenzied portion of the last sonata as Ivonne's portrait began to shine with a blinding light that poured into the ruined dimension and illuminated everything. Behind her, she heard footsteps and-

"Ib! Ib!" _Garry?_ She continued playing, her eyes shut in a sudden fear that everything would vanish. Another voice rang in the clear air.  
_"Ivonne!_ This time, she gasped and pried her disbelieving eyelids open to watch Guertena race to the shining portrait, an expression of rapture on his face. As she finished the last sonata, a tremendous rumble shook the place.  
"Ib! Watch out!" The familiar strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close as she stumbled in shock. For a split second, she looked up at him, back into _striking, stormy eyes._

Then, with a deafening crash and a roar, the floor cracked open. With a cry, the two fell into the abyss in the deep, catching only a glimpse of the other couple; Guertena and the mahogany-haired, crimson-eyed woman at his side, both beaming radiantly.

After that, there was nothing. Nothing but the speed of their descent in total darkness and each other's presence, and the strong, unbreakable clasp of their hands, forever entwined.

"Garry?" His face was wet as he blinked and peered down at her. Then he realized it; the warmth of _real_ sunshine on his back. His eyes widened as he glanced up at the bright, bright blue sky, the fluffy cotton-candy clouds gliding serenely past the sun. "Garry..we made it..." Ib's tears rolled down her face as she buried her face in his shirt and cried like a child.  
"It was all you, Ib." His hands stroked her soft hair as he embraced her, smiling. "Thank you for coming back for me." She tilted her head back to look at him, and then frowned, puzzled. "What's the matter?"  
"Garry. You look the same."  
"Oh..about that..Guertena told me that everything would change to accommodate my age when I went back to the real world...so I guess my birthdate...changed?"  
"...Are you fine with that?"  
"Not like there's anything I can do about it. Besides, it doesn't shorten my life span." He chuckled, and then noticed the violin and sonatas in her hands. "No wonder I felt like something was nudging my back, you still have Ivonne's stuff!" Ib gaped at them.  
"This..what am I going to do with this? I can't say I randomly found Ivonne's sonatas and Stradivari..."  
"Well, maybe we should take a look back inside the museum. I feel as though something's changed..."  
The two stared at the imposing marble entrance, and then nodded at each other. Ascending the stairs, Garry reached the door first and ushered Ib in.

-

The first thing that met their eyes was the incredible color. Garry and Ib stared in awe at the gallery; the stark primary colors and black tones were all gone. In their place, delicate sculptures of silver, glass, and crystal shimmered as vibrant, sunset colors streaked across immense canvases.

The main attraction, however, had a tour group beneath it. Garry and Ib sidled closer to eavesdrop, while they continued to gawk in amazement. The guide was busy explaining away.

"Ladies and gentlemen, without a doubt I know many of you came here to see _this_." She gestured towards the gilt-framed painting. "Guertena was known for his exceptional, emotion-charged imagery, all inspired by his love, Ivonne, and this portrait of her is the most famous painting in Vienna; some even called it the Austrian Mona Lisa. Note, ladies and gentlemen, at the movement and elegance of her posture- he has captured her intensity, her passion, all in a single snapshot of eternal love."  
In the front of the crowd, a little, blond-haired girl in a green dress hopped up and down excitedly, tugging on her mother's hand.  
"Mommy, she's so pretty! I want to be like her one day when I grow up!"  
"I'm sure you will be, my dear." The brunette woman stretched out and stroked her daughter's hair. "Let's go find Daddy, ok?"  
"Ok!" As they walked away, the tour guide answered a question from a stern-looking man.  
"I heard that the Stradivari Fleming was used by Ivonne Reinhardt, is that true?"  
"Indeed it is; in fact, tonight you will be hearing from one talented violinist tonight- she is playing the same exact violin, on loan from a private company."

Ib choked in disbelief as she gazed at the violin in her hands. Next to her, Garry grinned.  
"I guess that _is_yours, for now."  
"I..I don't even know what to say. This thing costs millions!"  
"Its value is nothing in the hands of a person who can't use it, Ib."  
"But..." She lowered her head. "I'd like you to stay and hear- if that's alright with you.." Garry smiled and suddenly pulled Ib closer, causing her to gasp.  
"I will." He pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. "It's a promise." Her eyes shone as she glanced up at him, laughing.  
From across the room, a portly man in a suit caught sight of Ib.  
"Ib! Where were you? It's time to get ready!" Ib nodded and waved frantically at the man before turning back to Garry.  
"I'll see you later!" With that, she dashed across the gallery and vanished. Garry stuck his hands back into his pockets, and looked back at Guertena's famed portrait.

Waves of dark chocolate hair fell around a lovely, heart-shaped face, rose-colored eyes sparkling with sheer delight and love as carnation lips parted in a ebullient smile. _No wonder he loved her so much..._

She was beautiful.

Ib tensed as she exhaled, looking out nervously at the numerous faces. The lights above her were burning as she woodenly lifted the violin-

He was in the crowd, that comforting smile on his face, his tall figure and torn coat standing out against the rest of the audience.

With a new confidence, she started playing.  
As the golden notes of her music wafted out into the main gallery, Garry and Ib could have sworn that they felt the gentle, happy presence of Guertena and Ivonne somewhere close by.

Neither of them knew what would possibly happen in the future- no one knew, but the possibilities were infinite. At this moment, they held one shining hope in their two hearts: that perhaps, someday, they too would experience the same joy.

And even now, that little wish was already planting itself and taking root, as he looked up at her and the smile they shared stretched back to a glimmering, faintly tangible past in Vienna.


End file.
